


our line

by Gayrefrain (orphan_account)



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: F/M, Multiple Orgasms, and this is my remedy, ellie and hardy are disasters and it's fun to write, i need to edit this but damn do i crave validation, i realized after re-reading favors that i wrote that whole fic without including any sexual favors, just pwp, why did i write this? you tell me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-08 18:57:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20840390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Gayrefrain
Summary: After a late night, Ellie and Hardy decide to do a one-time shag.





	our line

**Author's Note:**

> may the priest from fleabag forgive me

Ellie Miller was _ really _ knackered. After Hardy decided to stick around Broadchurch (grumbling about a “change of pace” or the like), they’d been spending their free time sticking around the station to solve the Sandbrook case from a distance. And when that got solved, they turned their free time to cold cases.

Six months of poring over case files on their own time was exhausting her to her bones. She loved the work, truly, but it did take its toll.

She went to look over a crime scene photo, one late night in Hardy’s cramped, little office, and groaned at the strain.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, glasses slipping off his face.

“Just a crick in my neck,” She said, rubbing at it. “All this time working on this case has been messing with my posture.”

Hardy said nothing, so Ellie twisted her neck a bit and whined at the pain. “Are you quite done?”

“Are _ we _ done? It’s near 1 in the morning,” She said. Thankfully, Chloe loved the extra money and would be thrilled at the pay. 

“I just want to go over these witness statements once more,” He said, looking up at her. He looked just as tired. Still much healthier than when she had met him with that new ticker in his chest, but bags under his eyes.

She gave him a childish pout as her hand fruitlessly rubbed the pain at her neck. “Okay, but then I really should be heading off.”

He nodded and made some sort of grunt of agreement. She went to look at the witness statements and groaned at the new movement in her neck.

“For God’s sake, Miller,” The last consonants were dropped in his frustration. “Must you keep whinging?” 

“I’m _ sore_,” She snapped. “We’ve been at this every bloody night this week, the same case, same long hours...” She trailed off, immediately distracted by another facet of the case, which proved her point. 

It was a doozy, an old one from ‘79, where there was apparently a spot of corruption within the force. The witness statements might have been doctored, and they were currently looking for proof. “Besides, with the painting thing-”

“What painting thing?”

“Fred’s new preschool has him painting, and he wanted me to hang it up,” She explained. “So I had to put it in an odd spot in the kitchen and nearly cricked my neck out.”

The frustration turned to concern, “Are you alright?”

“Oh, don’t care now, you were just being stroppy,” She dismissed, hand still rubbing at her neck like one might dig through the mud to pull weeds.

“You’re doing that wrong.”

She gave him a glare that _ dared _him to continue.

Of course, he dared, “That’s not how you get a kink out.”

Never in all her years on God’s green Earth did she think she’d hear Alec Hardy use the word _ kink. _

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow, and decided to tease. “And how does one do it?”

Wordlessly, stoically, he stood and went behind her. 

“What are you- _ oh_,” She’s ashamed to admit it, but she melted as his strong hands worked her neck. She bit back a groan as the pain morphed into warmth.

“Wow, Miller, what have you done to yourself?”

She ignored him and focused on his ministrations. In a way, his hands moved with a finesse more than his body seemed to. Lanky height, stooped posture, bitter expression, she wouldn’t have guessed he’d have magic hands.

But oh he did.

She wanted to ask how he got so good at this, but that felt like giving too much away. Plus, it was after midnight, and she in no way wanted to hear about Tess Bloody Henchard, her guess on the explanation.

For an indeterminate amount of time, he massaged her neck with his fingers and the meat of his hands. It felt amazing, but a small bit of her lamented this was the most a man had touched her in quite some time.

But when he hit this one spot, she let out a groan worthy of a wanton whore.

And the hands froze.

Part of her was mortified, frozen like a statue. Another part wanted to yell at him to “bloody get back at it!” 

The latter half lost, but she regained movement. 

Ellie spun around, knowing her face was probably flushed a bit. “Um,” She said, uncharacteristically quiet. The mortification grew. Of course, he’d be uncomfortable at her sounds. She was gross, unworthy of being touched in such a way.

She tried to bite that insecurity back but, like vile, it pushed at her throat.

Characteristically quiet, Alec had an odd blush on his cheeks. “Well.”

Silence filled the office like a gross smell. But the sound of her moan echoed.

“I s’pose we can be done for the night,” He offered, like an olive branch.

She took it and gathered her things in one fell swoop. “Aye then, cheers.”

They both left.

+

The next morning (technically still that morning), Hardy wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. That... sound that Miller haunted the rest of his thoughts that night, and made him feel disgusted with himself.

She was a colleague. More than that, Miller was a subordinate. He had a responsibility to not cross a line, and he did. He touched her _ in their police station_, where there were probably CCTVs and records, and he just so fucked it up.

He might have even hurt her, he wasn’t qualified to give massages. 

That noise... he shivered against his will, and berated himself once more. 

Christ, he was an idiot.

He had to apologize, which he didn’t really like to do. To ease the deal, he brought her coffee the way she liked it, and even a scone. The barista at the nice place in town gave him an odd look since he never bought their food, but he ignored her as always and waited for Miller to show up. 

She did, just a bit later. She looked frazzled, as she always did these mornings since the boys’ new school was outside Broadchurch now.

“Sorry, the traffic was awful- is that a scone?” She stopped and studied it. “Why do you have a scone?”

He shifted uncomfortably and shoved the drink and offensive pastry at her.

She took them and immediately bit into the food, letting out another groan, but at least this one was not on last night’s scale. “Ta, I owe you one, I didn’t have time for breakfast this morning.” 

He sipped at his own tea, and looked around to make sure none of their colleagues were around. “Should we... talk about last night?”

She eyed him over the scone. “Should we?” Her mouth was full, and her lips were covered in crumbs.

“I hope I didn’t put you in a discomfited position, Miller,” He said, pushing through his reluctance to get these words out. 

“No, the position was pretty damn great,” She said. “My neck hasn’t felt this great in a fortnight.”

“I didn’t cross a line?” He had to clarify. For some unquantifiable reason, he needed to make sure he wouldn’t lose her. 

“Is there even a line between us anymore, Hardy?” She said with a shrug. “Even if there were... I needed that, last night. Maybe I should even thank you.”

“Don’t, it was my p-” 

He cut himself off.

Not the right wording at all.

Miller gave him one of her pitying looks, one that acknowledged that she knew he was trying. “Everything will be fine, sir. Nothing will happen if we don’t let it, and the both of us are stubborn bastards, so I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

He nodded. That was fair.

“Did... _ I _ cross a line last night?”

“Of course not,” He shook his head. “If anyone did, it was me. I just wanted you to stop whingeing.”

“What a gentleman,” She rolled her eyes and wiped her hands of crumbs. Maybe even of last night. “If we both say it’s awright, then it’s awright.”

He nodded once more, then gestured for her to lead the way. 

He said it would be alright.

But he kept replaying that moan.

+

Late that night, Tom and Fred were asleep, or at least locked in their rooms, but Ellie was practically vibrating in undue nerves and randy energy. She had this severe need to get laid, but the idea of going “on the prowl” again was just too atrocious.

Because while she needed the carnal pleasure, she _ wanted _ the feeling of being cherished. Worshipped. Adored. Hell, even just liked. 

Her hand going to her neck, she thought of Alec Hardy’s hands. The way he carried himself was so contradictory. Lanky, frail, but powerful and dominant. In the station and at crime scenes, the way he casually took command was honestly hot the more she thought about it.

With a slight twinge of _ something, _ she thought of when he came by her house to have a meal. Back when her house was a home with Joe. And he looked so out of his element, so awkward, so _ dorky. _

But at a crime scene, he took control. At the station, he lead with fervor and with deserved power because he knew what the fuck he was doing. She truly admired that, not that she would ever admit it.

With a jolt, she noticed her hand, once rubbing her shoulder, had moved to her breast. 

As like most women, she masturbated and enjoyed it. But these days, it felt more akin to a chore. Like something to check off a list. 

She wanted to be touched, by a hand that wasn’t hers. A hand she knew.

In a flash, she thought of Hardy’s hands, how just touching her knotted shoulders made her feel warm and tingly and treated. 

A twisted little voice in her head said, _ maybe he can scratch that itch in another spot. _

Her hand moved a bit lower.

_ Maybe you can scratch his. _

The most surprising part was the fact that idea didn’t immediately make her groan in disgust. _ Alec Hardy, _the man that used to be the worst cop in Britain. The man who was a dedicated father. The man who arrested her paedo husband. The man who taught her real, hard police work. The man who stayed with her through everything, even when he was gone. 

The man with magic hands.

A small moan escaped her lips and, with that, she whispered “fuck it” to herself, gathered her keys, and left her house.

+

The knocking at his door was fervent but unexpected. Hardy wasn’t asleep, nor was he really awake, but he didn’t really want a visitor all the same. He turned off his light to deter visitors, when he heard a familiar voice shout, “For Christ’s sake, Hardy, just let me in!”

“...Miller?” He called out.

“Who else?”

She had a point.

He padded over to the door. Without preamble, she let herself and some evening chill in. 

“What are you doin’ here? You and the boys awright?” He checked as he shut the door and adjusted his work shirt over his wrist. He had started to fall asleep without bothering with pyjamas. Again.

She seemed to have not bothered to change before coming over, wearing bright pink pyjama bottoms, a big t-shirt, and her jacket haphazardly thrown over her frame. 

She turned to him, a soft blush in her cheeks that made her look alive and vivid. “I had an idea, about our line.”

“Our line?” She lost him.

“The line we crossed.”

His new and improved heart thumped awkwardly at the reminder. “I thought you said there was no line.”

“Just shut up a tick,” She held up a hand. “I have an idea. Let me just spit it out, if you hate it, we can go back to before.”

He shoved his hands into his slacks’ pockets. “Is this one of those ideas that requires tea beforehand?”

“I think we should have sex.”

If he had been drinking tea, he would have spit it all over her.

“What?” 

She danced, seemingly unable to decide which foot to put pressure on, in the sheer awkwardness of the entire situation. “You... Your hands are surprising. And it pisses me off how much I’m thinking about them. I’m horny, and I could use a proper shag. Are you opposed?” 

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus, Miller.” 

The flush fled her cheeks. “This was a bad idea.”

“Maybe, just wait a moment,” He took a deep breath and sat down. “This isn’t a fair proposition for someone with my condition.”

“Your heart is fine,” She said, sitting down next to him on his ratty, shitty sofa. But after that, she let him think.

In five seconds, a lot of thoughts coursed through his brain. About how badly this could end. About how much this could fuck this up in the office. About the fact he didn’t know how good of a shag he’d be after Tess decimated him. About how long it had been since he’d gotten “a proper shag.” 

But mostly he thought about that moan of Miller’s. And how he wanted to hear it again. 

He took another deep breath, and looked her in the eyes. She sat there watching him, but he didn’t burn at the sight of her intense gaze.

“Let’s say I’m amenable. There’d have to be rules.” 

“Rules are fair. What are your rules?”

He considered that. “It’d be a one time thing.”

She nodded, “Fair, too.”

“We use protection.” She nodded again. “We don’t tell anyone at work.” 

She made a face, “Oh god, can you imagine?”

He could, and that’s why he made it a rule. The thought of Dirty Brian finding out almost made him want to call the whole thing off. “We don’t tell anyone at all.” 

“Agreed.”

“Do you have any rules?”

He watched as she tilted her head, and considered. He often wished he had an insight into what went through her mind. Of all the people in his life, she was the one that consistently stumped him.

“No cuddling,” She said. 

He waited, but that seemed to be it. “That all?”

“You covered most of it,” She said. “What, do we shake on it?” 

“We could kiss,” His fingers tapped out awkwardly on his thighs as he considered this. “Or is this one of those things where we don’t kiss, just shag? Or, maybe we should just-”

“Chrissake,” She muttered and then her lips were on his.

For a moment, he was frozen, but then she parted her own lips, and it was like instinct took over. He moved his lips in tandem, and his hand moved to cup the back of her head. At the nape of her neck, her curls were soft.

She added tongue first, and they played in their mouths. Her hand went to his collar, as if tugging him closer.

Something almost primal wanted to pull her onto his lap, and have her warmth on top of him, but even in the haze of the kiss, he had a feeling that was too far. He held back.

But then she moaned into his mouth.

Hardy pulled away slightly, to catch his breath, to regain his sanity. How the fuck did one kiss cause his head to swim already? Maybe he really _ did _ need a proper shag. 

“Should we move to my room?” 

She swallowed, and nodded. “Christ, I need this.” It was almost under her breath, but her omnipresent lack of filter made another appearance.

He nodded, but didn’t verbalize his agreement. He didn’t think it necessary.

+

Ellie had only been in his room during the whole Sandbrook thing, but it was different now. No case files really spread across, just pictures of Daisy and some old books. A bed just big enough for two. 

She didn’t expect her body to impatiently hum with want. She must really be desperate.

As soon as he shut the door, her fingers went to his collar and started undoing buttons. She’d seen glimpses of his virile chest, and she wanted to run her fingers over it. 

Joe had been hairless.

_ We are not thinking about Joe. _

She kissed Hardy with more fervor, and leaned her body into him as she shrugged off his shirt for him. His hands, broad and warm and powerful, went to her waist and lifted the shirt. There was a bit of fumbling with the hem, but she didn’t mind as they stood against each other.

His fingers hesitated at her bra, an old one that didn’t look that fancy and cost only about ten pounds. In the light of the one lamp, she saw him lick his lips, but he waited like he was asking for permission. Or just pausing.

“Fuckin’ _ touch me_,” She almost hissed. 

With ease, her clasp fell undone, and he moved it to the floor. Almost as one, they touched each other’s chests. Her fingers roamed through the hair, downy and curly and pure _ man _ under her touch. He stilled when she bumped up against his pacemaker scar, but it never seemed off or mood-killing. Just another aspect to Hardy, the frustrating-in-_all_-the-ways Hardy. 

His hands cupped her breasts, and a thumb smoothed over her peak. She gasped into his mouth, and one nail lightly trailed down his pec to his stomach. No abs to speak of, but still strong.

He shuddered underneath her. “Are we really doing this?”

She nodded. Then said, “Unless you don’t want to.”

Ellie really did spring the whole thing on him. She wanted to be apologetic about it, and was about to be and pull back on the whole stupid idea, when he said, “I want to” and kissed her harder.

They shrugged off their own trousers and moved themselves to the bed. Their kisses grew more heated as he climbed on top of her.

“Shite,” He said, pulling away as her fingers skimmed at his boxers. “I don’t have any condoms.” 

“One mo’,” She said and padded back out to the living room, tits out, and dug into her purse for her spare reserve of condoms. She had them just in case she ever got the inkling that Tom was having sex.

Another thought she didn’t want to have right then.

She went back in the room, and Hardy was sitting at the edge of the bed, waiting for her. His dark hair was a bit mussed, and his eyes were dark, and his hands were spread out behind him, unintentionally propping up his torso as an art exhibition piece. 

She licked her lips and moved herself onto his lap. 

His hands hesitated for a moment before they wrapped around her, clutching onto her waist. It was grounding to be touching on multiple fronts. Their lips, his hands/her hips, their centers. 

He leaned back on the bed and she kissed against him harder as his fingers dipped into her panties. Again, she wished she planned a bit more on this, but thankfully he didn’t seem to mind.

Hardy’s hand slipped in and immediately started playing with her. She gasped, it was almost electric. She forgot how good it felt to have another human touching her, the intimacy almost made her come right there.

With a lot more finesse than she expected, he rolled them over, and he was on top of her. Their heads knocked a bit, but it made her giggle into his mouth.

His eyes rolled in annoyance rather than pleasure, and she couldn’t help but laugh. As soon as he slid a finger into her heat, the giggle morphed into another moan.

“Christ,” She swore, bearing down on it to get more friction. Picking up on her need, he added another finger, stretching her with grace.

The last man she fucked, the prep work was almost perfunctory, just to get to the meat and potatoes of it all. But Alec seemed to enjoy it, and it made her all the wetter. 

At three fingers, working her almost like an expert, she came, shuddering over his hand. She forced herself to look him in the eyes, and they were so wide, dark and almost awed. 

“Fuck me,” She whispered.

He nodded and slouched off his pants. He pulled on a condom as she tugged off her own panties, and he moved on top of her.

He took a deep breath, and she waited, impatience growing thin. “One last chance to-”

“Fuck me already,” She ordered, and then he did.

Alec Hardy was not huge like in an odd or bad way but, by god, did she stretch around him, even with his prep. She groaned and leaned her head into his shoulder. 

“You alright?” He asked, his voice a bit breathy as he stilled inside her. 

She nodded against him, letting herself adjust. Christ. Who would have thought Hardy had such a cock on him?

She ground her hips to inspire him to move in turn, and he took the hint. It was almost like a dance as he fucked her. Sensual, powerful. 

Even during the act, it spun her around. God, why didn’t they do this sooner?

She bit into his shoulder at a particular hard thrust, and his answering hiss went straight to her toes. 

She was building to orgasm a lot quicker than she normally did, probably sensitive from the previous one. “I’m close,” She admitted in a soft keen. 

“Again?” He clarified.

“Shut up,” She refused to give him the satisfaction, and he chuckled against her throat and changed his angle.

She cried out, “Hardy” and it almost made her laugh with how close it was to _ harder! _ And, honestly, either worked. 

“Fuck- fuck-” She stammered over herself, lost in the sensations. His hand went down and rubbed her clit, his movements as sure as his massage the night before.

“Gonna come again for me, Ellie?” He asked, his brogue soaked in sex appeal. His touch, his voice, his nomenclature made her come on his cock with a shuddering gasp and all thought blissfully left her mind.

As she slowly regained herself, Ellie noticed his hips slowing even though he hadn't come yet.

“Keep going,” She said, not a beg but an order.

“Miller-”

It ached, suddenly, how much she missed the sound of her name. “Keep going,” She demanded, hooking a leg around his scrawny hip as a lock.

“I can-”

She refused to let him finish a word, and wanted to finish him off. 

“I won’t break, fuck me,” She ground against him. She was about to move him on his back to ride him ‘til he came in that condom. “Wanna have you fill me up,” She tried to talk dirty, and she moaned again when his long fingers tangled in her hair as he resumed his thrusts.

All the touch was too much to bear, but she didn’t want it to stop. She wanted to know they had the same effect on each other. For more than just courtesy, for more than her wanting him to finish on his own merit, she wanted to make him come. She needed to know she could. Stupid, bloody pride. She wanted to make a man come again.

“Won’t take long,” He grunted, a punctuation with a hard thrust.

“You charmer.”

He laughed a little, but mostly it was sigh of exertion as his hips picked up speed. 

“Come for me,” She asked, this time, it was near a beg.

And he came, with her first name on his lips.

+

The next day, Hardy walked right into the offices. He did not have an extra scone this time, but he did leave her tea on her desk as he went into his office.

Would he a coward if he hid away the day in his office? To work without the distraction of thinking of her curls in her fingers, her ass under his hands, her breasts against his chest.

It might have made him a coward, but he did it anyway. He could at least get work done that way.

The crimes in Broadchurch had dimmed to petty drug offenses over the winter hols, and he was grateful for the reprieve. He looked over an old cold case absently, willing his brain to focus.

But then she walked in with the other detectives. She wore a bit of makeup that he could notice through his blinds. She was laughing at someone one of the officers said, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed.

And then those bright brown eyes met his through his window, and her laughing grin softened to a soft smile.

He couldn’t help the way his lips quirked, but he remembered the way it felt the night before once it was all over.

After panting from the exertion, Miller immediately got up and dressed herself. She said “thanks for the shag” while pulling up her pink pyjamas.

He tried to offer her tea, a ride, an _ anything _ but she left, the only evidence of the fact she came over was the used condom in his waste bin by his bed.

And he remembered her “no cuddling” rule, and it sunk his glued-together heart a bit like a stone in a lake. 

Christ.

So, after the shared almost-smile, he turned back to his work. There was enough to do without thinking of her hands, her hips, her lips.

Hardy managed to work straight until lunch without being bothered or leaving his office until Miller swung the door open.

“Eat something,” She commanded.

“I’m fine,” He tried hard to not look at her.

He didn’t have to in order to know what she looked like. Arms crossed, leaning against the doorway, probably rolling her eyes.

“Don’t be a knob,” The familiar phrase filled the room. “You’ll work better after a snack.”

He couldn’t help it, his eyes lifted from the case file and studied her.

Besides the makeup, there was considerable more effort in her appearance that day. The fitted blouse, the nicer shoes saved for Dorset police meetings.

But he noticed that the flush wasn’t caused by blush or the like, it seemed to just be a glow to her cheeks.

“Yeah,” He found himself saying. “I can eat.” 

So, they walked off to the break room, and he found a leftover soup he’d been thoughtful enough to leave from the day before. Even with the pacemaker, he didn’t like eating much. Better to save everything as leftovers.

Miller, of course, had a full sandwich and crisps. He went to go back to his office, but she tugged him by his sleeve to have him sit at the tiny table.

“You can’t eat at your desk, it’s unhealthy,” She said, spitting crisps everywhere. “Eat here.”

Hardy gave her a look, but couldn’t find it in him to fight her. So he obeyed, and sat in the stupid, bloody plastic chair and ate his barely reheated soup.

They ate in silence, their coworkers either eating at their desks or going out that day since it was a Friday. 

“Do we need to talk about what happened?” He asked, not looking her in the eye.

“What’s there to say?” 

That sliced through a lot more than he anticipated.

“Fair,” was all he said. 

They ate in silence.

“We agreed it was a one time thing,” She said. “In fact, it was _ your _ idea.”

“I know,” He said, because he did. Even though he kind of wanted to eat her out on the table instead of this awful soup. 

So he went silent.

One of his favorite interrogation techniques was asking so many questions that the suspect felt flabbergasted, and couldn’t follow, and lost track of their own story.

An underrated technique, and one he admittedly underutilized, was just silence. Sometimes, people wanted to fill it, and dug their own grave.

Miller, the chattiest person ever, could never let a silence lie. But he could see her fighting it. Her biting into a crisp like it was his head. Her eyes darting around like she couldn’t quite believe him.

“Was it so bloody awful you couldn’t greet me this morning?” There it was.

“I’m not the one that left like the bed was on fire,” Hardy said, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“I’m the one that came twice.”

“I’m not sixteen, Miller, I’m one and done,” He tried to keep his voice hush, but he couldn’t believe her fucking words. “It was-” He cut himself off. 

“It was what?” Of course, she was not going to let him off the hook.

“It was a great ‘one,’” He said through his teeth. “I thought that was obvious.” He focused on the soap.

“Well, I thought I was obvious,” She crossed her arms.

An impasse.

Or so it seemed.

“So it _ was _ good then?”

_ Bloody brilliant, _ he almost said. But instead said, “I maybe could have talked about you about it right after.” 

She shifted. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“That’s not a problem normally,” He pointed out. 

“What was I supposed to say, Hardy?” She snapped. “‘Thanks for the two bloody orgasms’? ‘Thanks for the best shag of my life’? ‘Thanks for-’”

“Wait, it was the best of your life?”

“Oh my god, you’re atrocious,” She said, violently standing. 

“Miller-” 

“No, this was so stupid, I can’t-” 

He stood as quickly as he could, knocking over the stupid little plastic chair, “Hold on.” He ordered, grabbing at her arm at her elbow, just to get her to not leave. He knew he was the one that always left, but even just for this stupid break room, he couldn’t bear it.

She immediately wrenched herself free but, thankfully, she didn’t leave.

“It was my best too,” He said, so softly he wondered if she would even hear it.

She looked up at him, her bright brown eyes so unsure and it made his chest ache distantly.

Then she brightened, “Really?”

“Now who’s being atrocious?” He rolled his eyes.

She grinned smugly and, god, he wanted to snog the smirk right off her face.

“If we both enjoyed ourselves...” She trailed off before continuing. “And we’re not hurting anyone...”

This time, she didn’t pick up where she left off.

He sighed, and assumed it was his turn to be vulnerable which was not Ideal, but for the feeling of her under his hands, he’s suffer the mortifying feeling of ripping one’s heart out and presenting it on a silver platter.

“Maybe we can do it again?” Hardy finished, his hand slowly moving up from its loose grip on her fingers up to her shoulder. “Maybe you can come over later.”

She grinned again, wicked and appetizing. “Maybe I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Still not really sure my thoughts on this, but i had a lot of fun writing the banter. I'm also debating continuing this but I think it can end right here.


End file.
